Countering The Bells Of Sadness Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

[to be sung in counterpoint, if necessary...]

not only on the high, the holy days did we love
the sound of bells but in our sleep the sweet bells
ringing from the ancient steeples over the

cobblestone streets with their dream tidings.
and songs were gliding then, were they?
yes, I sang, again and again throughout the summer air

the clear green winds from the seas.

and it was lemon, lemon lovely fresh and
citrus everywhere so that orange clouds drifted
down from the great heights over the

orangeries and there were no factories, no whistles
shrill no tiresome till, no toiling only deliciously the
tolling of the carillons and school is out and every prismed

thing and it is the holiday sent straight from Heaven
it is everything, and every word trilling,
beautiful in silver and gold

and what you please and never again
never ever again the funeral bells, the heart sickened;
thudding to the ground of the unripe fruit

the angels gaping with their wordless 'oh no's' and

tolling and tolling
the bill of an unpaid disaster
suddenly come due.

mary angela douglas 15 june 2015; 11 march 2016